Taking Turns (Turning #1)(39)

I let out a long sigh as I turn away and look at Bric. “Do you have nightmares?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“She’s lying. But anyway, it was a good night. I fingered her and kissed her before we discussed the rules. Afterward, it was strictly hands off.”

“We’re having a play-by-play?” I ask, completely embarrassed.

“It’s OK, Chella,” Bric says in his calm, authoritative voice. “We don’t normally, no. But we have to make sure everything is proceeding well the first week. It’s a critical time.”

“She comes so f*cking fast, you guys,” Smith says, a new playfulness in his voice I haven’t heard yet. “Demonstration?”

And then Smith’s hand is between my legs, his fingertips playing with my clit.

I’m watching Quin concentrate on his cereal as this happens, but he looks up from the cornflakes and his eyes meet mine.

He smiles. Sits back. Drops his spoon, picks up his napkin, and reaches under the tablecloth to…

I look around nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Bric says. “No one can see. Just relax.” And then he grabs his napkin and hides his hand under the tablecloth too. His eyes go half-mast as Smith continues to stimulate me.

Smith’s warm breath caresses the back of my bare neck. “Close your eyes, Chella. Enjoy it. I won’t be touching you again for a long time.”

I do. I close my eyes. But I want to participate as well. So I reach down between my legs and place my hand over Smith’s. Helping him get me off. He’s kissing my neck, biting my ear, and I want to feel his cock inside me so bad, I reach over and grab him. Stroke him. He chuckles softly.

When I look at Quin he mouths the words, You’re a dirty, f*cking whore.

I feel like a dirty f*cking whore, so I don’t even care. I just lick my lips and smile.

Smith pulls his fingers out of my * and brings them to my lips. “Suck them, Chella,” he says. “Suck them like you want to suck my cock. And get yourself off at the same time.”

I let him put his fingers in my mouth and I suck. I imagine what his cock would feel like. I imagine swallowing his come as I play with myself under the perfectly crisp, white-linen tablecloth until I can’t stand it anymore. Until my body wants to writhe. Until I want to rub my * on something—anything—and I come.

Both Bric and Quin come into their napkins. Quin clenches his jaw and closes his eyes as it happens. Bric stares at me and I stare back.

We are all breathing hard at the table, even Smith, who didn’t come. But I realize I’m still gripping his cock in my hand.

I look at him, slightly embarrassed, and let go. But he just gives me a lopsided grin. “I can’t see you tonight,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” I say, pulling myself back together. I look around nervously. This experience was so intense, I forgot I was in a restaurant. But Bric was right. No one can see us. We have a little private oasis in a very public place.

“But I’ll send a car to take you home after work. And Quin will see you on Monday. Make sure you’re back here by midnight Sunday, just in case he wants to visit early. You’ll be OK, right?”

“Of course,” I say. “Of course. I’m a big girl. I know how to live alone.”

But it’s the worst weekend of my life. It is long, and boring, and I rub myself raw because I spend almost the whole time masturbating to the thought of Smith f*cking me.





Chapter Thirteen - Quin




It’s déjà vu all over again as I enter the apartment on the sixth floor of Turning Point.

Until it’s not.

Until the fact that this is not Rochelle’s apartment anymore hits me in the chest like a f*cking brick. Gone are all her quirky pieces of furniture. Gone are the long, heavy drapes. Gone are the pictures of the four of us on the fridge. Gone is her exotic scent. Gone are her vases filled with fresh flowers and the never-ending throw pillows.

Everything about her is gone.

Except the memories.

Chella is sitting on the new couch. Some modern piece-of-shit thing that Smith probably picked out. It’s leather, and white. In fact, everything is black and white up here. Just like it is downstairs.

She stares at me as I toss the keys onto a new foyer table and they go sliding off and onto the dark, hardwood floor, because gone is the little green glass dish that used to catch them.

“I didn’t think you were coming tonight,” she says. She’s wearing a white nightie that ends at her hip bones and a matching pair of panties. She makes no move to get up and greet me like Rochelle would’ve. She keeps her long legs tucked under her slim body and stares at the bags of food in my hand.

“I wasn’t coming. But Smith called me forty-five minutes ago and said he didn’t have the apartment stocked with food and never told you about the room service. So…” I hold up the bags. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I figured this is as good a place to start as any.”

She continues to stare at me, or maybe it’s the food, as I walk past her and place it all on the dining table. It’s just a small four-seater table. Just enough room for all the players to eat together. As if that would ever happen up here.

“I got McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Taco Bell, and Chick-Fil-A.”